


Brink Of Death

by Alterius



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bad Ending, Blood, Cannibalism, Daemon Prompto Argentum, M/M, Time Loop, Time Travel, interest check
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 06:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16592213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alterius/pseuds/Alterius
Summary: Noctis is stuck in a time loop, doomed to repeat his journey over and over until he gets it right. This is the worst attempt yet.





	Brink Of Death

**Author's Note:**

> This is something of an interest check / pilot chapter for a longer fic I'm writing, originally written for Whumptober, though I missed the mark on editing. If people are interested in seeing more, I'll be posting it. Otherwise, I'll just be writing it for my little lonesome self, hoarding it on my hard drive and never bothering to edit it. As always, this was beta read by my [love](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lascivus).

It didn’t matter what he did. Every time he passes, he finds himself waking again back at the start of everything. The first time, it had been jarring—traumatizing, even. He’d scared the wits out of all of his friends, spewed words he shouldn’t have, gave away an ending that was altered by his ignorance.

The second had been just as rough, their path diverging through his past knowledge as he seeks for a way to put a stop to the seemingly endless cycle.

Thanks to Umbra, the pull of being drug to the past was familiar, but the way  _ Umbra _ did it was different from he experienced at the end of every journey. Everything was reset, like it had never been. His friends were unaware of the change like they ought to be, old weapons were locked and bound by forces unknown…

But there was  _ one  _ consistency. No matter what goes on, no matter what the turn of events that lead them there, Prompto always ends up at Zegnautus Keep—and he always winds up safe and sound, finding his way back into his arms one way or another. 

The guilt of that first time never dissipated. It was impossible to forget how  _ easily  _ the world had been ripped from beneath his feet. It was impossible to ignore the guilt in the pit of stomach, weighing him down like a piece of lead, threatening to drown him in the watery depths of his ensuing depression when he realized that  _ Ardyn  _ wasn’t the one he’d pushed off the train.

Ardyn was the one he’d pinned to a wall,  _ threatened _ , cast blame on for  _ everything  _ that had happened. Every word that “Ardyn” had spoken echoed in his head, spoken now in Prompto’s voice. 

Repetition never made it easier to cope with. Whether it was the second time or the  _ twenty _ second, he always found guilt in whatever way Ardyn found to best manipulate him into hurting Prompto. Sometimes, he managed to delay it. Sometimes, he surprised Ardyn by being aware of his tricks, but that bastard of a man always found a way to get around it—just like this time. 

It had never mattered before how Prompto ended up there. The result was always the same: They’d find Prompto hanging on by a thread, but still very much alive. Bruised and beaten though he was, he was always breathing. 

This time is different. He knows from the moment he steps foot in the keep that something isn’t right. His heart beats unsteady in his chest and his hands shake as he ventures alone through Zegnautus, subject to the taunting of Ardyn, who mocks him for the fading light in his friend’s eyes and the way they glow a familiar red. 

Fear wraps its gnarled hands around his chest, choking him with every breath he takes. 

It’s not until he lays on Prompto that his heart breaks, though it still beats in his chest, keeping him alive, though he was anything but already. 

Glowing red eyes are too similar to all the Magitek Troopers they’d killed—the ones he now struggled to take down, knowing all too well about Prompto’s origins—and the skin on the right side of his face is deformed and discolored, dyed a sickly purple by a virus that he’s become all too familiar with. 

The infection has already spread too far and even if it hadn’t, Lunafreya wasn’t able to heal him now.

“Prompto…!”

His voice shakes and tears prickle at the edges of his eyes. Much as he’s seen, much as he’s  _ lost _ in this endless time loop where a single death means he needs to start over from the beginning and try again, Prompto was always a  _ constant  _ at his side. No matter what they’d lost, Prompto was always there. He’d lost everyone once, some even twice, but Prompto?

Prompto was  _ Prompto _ . How could he lose Prompto of all people? 

How could he _ fail  _ Prompto? 

The sound of Ignis and Gladio ambling up the stairs into the room behind him is white noise, barely audible compared the wobbly sob that slips from his own lips. His hand moves on his own, depressing a button next to the door that seal it shut behind him and not a minute later, he thinks he hears something slam up against it. 

He’s deaf to the sound of Ignis and Gladio calling to him and he’s blind to all save for the one he’s completely and utterly  _ failed _ . All the hurt he’d caused Prompto and now he couldn’t apologize for it. That alone would be enough to break his heart, but the condition Prompto’s in...

The sight of him leaves gashes in his heart as deep as the ones in Prompto’s skin that look like they come from his own deformed hands— _ claws _ , he realizes. 

“Prompto…” he whispers again, but he moves this time, steps into an unfamiliar hold that’s a far cry from the gentle embrace of his best friend. He’s not expecting him to return it. No, he’s expecting the closest thing to atonement that Noctis will likely be able to find.

“Prompto… I'm so sorry…”

Words spoken to his friend in the heat of battle come to the forefront of his mind, reminding him of the worst of his failures—and he had plenty. 

_ “I won't let anything happen to you.” _

Prompto’s face is marred with unfamiliar skin, but he can still see a few freckles decorating the left side of his face, where cheeks are stained red from old trail of tears that Noctis hadn’t been there to wipe away, to protect him from.

“I fucked up…!”

Prompto doesn't move for a moment. Instead, his raspy breath clings to the shell of Noct's ear every time he exhales and Noct knows—he  _ knows _ —that Prompto is still there, hanging onto his humanity by a hair because  _ gods _ , he’s one of the strongest men he’s ever known and if anyone could do it, it’d be  _ him _ . 

“Noct…” he breathes out, the single word strained as he struggles to hold dwindling control of his body. “G-Get…”

Prompto's voice croaks, like he's losing what's left of it and Noctis wouldn't be surprised. But Noct doesn't move; he doesn’t release Prompto, doesn’t step away because this is the closest he can come to retribution.

“I’m not going anywhere, Prom. I’m here.”

He knows Prompto’s still clinging onto control by the way hands move up, hesitating, claws poised to embed themself into sides. But still, Noct doesn’t dare step away, doesn’t recoil though he’s shaking with fear as much as he is grief as he reaches up, whisks a hand through white-blond hair that reminds him more of straw than the soft locks Prompto put so much time into. 

No sooner does the daemon inside take hold of Prompto, raised claws lurching forward and piercing his flesh. He can’t stop a scream from slipping out as sharp teeth sink into the nape of his neck, ripping muscle from bone and sending blood splattering across the floor and Prompto’s face alike. 

Noct was no stranger to the taste of blood, but this time, he didn’t know if it was from the chunks of flesh coming off his neck, the claws embedded into his sides or even the way his teeth came down on his tongue, trying to stave off the noise he was making. 

He can feel the blood running down his body, knows what’s coming by the way he struggles for breath, but he knew the moment he stepped into Prompto’s arms what would happen. He didn’t need a hazy fog falling over his eyes to remind him that he was dying.

And next his eyes slipped shut, everything around him clicked off like a television’s dial being turned. The pain, the sound, everything disappeared in an instant. 

But just as quickly as it had been switched off, the opposite was true. There was nothing one minute, then the sun was beating down on his skin and he could feel the hard gravel of the cement road underneath his ass and then...

“I've already pushed myself…  _ to the brink of death _ .”

It begins anew. Just like it always does. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I guess comment and let me know if you're interested in seeing more time loop or time travel shenanigans because I do love writing this sort of thing.


End file.
